Chapter 18
Broken Mirrors

One last word, Champion Takeshi. The voice came from a bespectacled journalist whose sober suit contrasted with the usual aggressiveness of the sports media. Could we come back to last night's game?

A muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. Had this woman not listened to his previous answers? I believe I have already spoken on the subject, he replied, his tone tinged with the condescension he reserved for questions he judged superfluous.

I would really like to understand how that game unfolded.

Takeshi turned round, irritated by her persistence. I have made myself perfectly clear. If you don't—

I mean this game. She held out her smartphone.

The Shinkansen carriage appeared on the screen, bathed in the wan glow of the fluorescent lights. His own image stood out in it, alone. His hands traced precise trajectories above an invisible board, his face wearing an expression he did not know in himself.

A dense silence fell over the lobby. In the pane of glass facing him, his image doubled strangely, as if reality itself were hesitating between two versions of the same night.